SIN
by liondancer17
Summary: All England wanted to do was show the world the nations' true nature. But instead, he created a mistake. And he's a part of it. Now he must find a way to fix it, before it destroys the world, and everything the nations have ever loved. Rating will go up.
1. Incipiens

A/N

Just so you guys know, this won't be a very happy story. I know that not a lot of my stories are very happy. In fact, most of them are pretty angsty, but this…this won't be a very nice story at all.

However, I will try to keep it compelling and interesting, and I have a great (at least, _I_ think it's great) plot in mind. So bear with me guys, here we go.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

* * *

><p>(England's POV)<p>

England, by nature, was irritated very easily. He was the kind of person who had a rather hair-trigger temper. Not as bad as Romano or Germany, of course, but it was still pretty quick to snap. It was just the way he was. And there were two people in the world who managed to set him over the edge just by looking at him.

And those two people were France and America.

Now, you might think that France was the one who irritated him the most. And, in many ways, you would be right. They had been fighting to the death since they were born, so it was no surprise that England felt a deep-seated grudge with the Frenchman. However, there were two things that set America apart from France:

1.) England used to like America. And, in many ways, he still did. There were still those moments were England would consider America a friend, then he would have to remind himself that America did…_that _to him, and he would try his best to hate the American. But, he had to remind himself to do so. He sometimes was still reminded of the child he found so long ago…but that was the past, and this was now.

2.) America got away with being annoying. Others, like France and Prussia, were called out on being irritating and arrogant. However, for some odd reason, it seemed that America would _charm_ others with it. That was the main thing that irritated England. How could America get away with it? It both confused and annoyed England. That idiot managed to become a world power?

How could someone like that become a world power? And, even better, how could someone like that win an intellectual war with Russia? Either he was hiding something, or he truly was kissed by Lady Luck.

England wasn't buying it.

So, he decided to unveil the truth. There was something hidden behind America's blue depths. Either the ultimate charmer; or the ultimate idiot, and he intended to find out what it was.

England brushed his fingertips against the spines of the books, searching. He could feel the magic twisting behind their ancient pages, each page encrypted with spells long forgotten. Finally, he found the right one. Taking it down, he began flipping through the pages. Then he reached the right one, bookmarked with a golden piece of silk, back from when he was a pirate, claiming the lands greedily, and the world was at his fingertips. It was a spell he used to find out plans, to unveil truths.

He skimmed the page. This spell wouldn't do…it merely made his targets tell the truth. No, he needed more. He needed to reveal the hidden depths of America's mind…

At last, he found a spell. The English translation was written on the side. The author was a Latin-speaker who had translated it for him. England still remembered him. He was a nice guy, if a bit…off. He used black magic, the kind England had been dabbling in at the time. The Latin verses were on the opposite page. England stood up, summoning his powers. The magic hummed through his system, pounding in his mind, pulsing through him powerfully. It danced at his fingertips, and the house shuddered, as if understanding the gravity of what England was about to do.

The Latin rolled off his tongue smoothly. The words drifted through the air, before being snatched away in the tempest of power encircling the nation. Gold encircled him, licking at his hands, his body, and the light echoed through the house. On the upper floor, the main level of the house, the glass shattered from their frames. England had never felt this kind of power before, even when summoning storms to swallow the Armada. No…nothing like this had ever been used.

He wanted _more._

"**_Daemones ostenderet animas eorum et remitti. _**

**_Delicta ostende animas dare formam dat vitam illis._**

**_Pote statem liberis bellum!"_**

The swirling gold power exploded in a wave of heat and light, throwing the Briton into the opposite wall. His skull smacked against the wall, and stars danced in his eyes, lined with gold. He saw the last flickering remnants of the spell die away, and all faded to black.

Nothing.

Nothing but black and gold.

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><p>(America's POV)<p>

Slowly, a pair of sky-coloured eyes opened.

America sat up slowly and painfully, rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Everything ached and creaked, slow and burning, as if he were an old man. He stretched out his muscles, curling his fingers like a cat into his bed sheets, and then he stood up, pulling his calves and thighs out, feeling the sore achiness slowly fade away into nothing.

Everything felt…off, somehow. He felt different. He wasn't sure how, but it was definitely there. There was a refreshed feeling, a renewed one, as if he had somehow been changed, altered, and reborn into a different form.

It was kind of…well…cool, to be honest. He would have to call Japan later. Maybe it was some kind of weird side-effect to that prayer he recited with the other yesterday.

America sighed, rolling his shoulders, and he walked into the bathroom, grabbing a towel as he went. Even if that…feeling was kind of cool, it wasn't fun to feel like an old man all morning.

He quickly glanced at the mirror as he hung the towel on the rack. No matter what the others thought, he wasn't vain about his appearance like France or Prussia. He didn't spend a very long time _admiring _himself in the mirror. It was more like a quick glance to make sure everything was in place before heading out to start the day. And that was all he planned at that moment, making sure he looked fine before taking a quick shower.

Then he saw it. His head snapped around, and he caught his appearance in the mirror. _The hell…?_ _What happened to him? _

He leaned over the counter, peering at himself closer. He brushed his golden bangs out of his eyes, so he could stare closer. This wasn't possible. It just wasn't. There was _no way_ that could happen.

A pair of deep, violet eyes peered back into his. They almost seemed to glow in the sickly light of the bathroom, an eerie, unnatural glow. He never shifted his gaze from his reflection, never blinking, staring back into those unnaturally purple irises. There was a _feeling _coming from those eyes, a fear, a dread. This wasn't right. It wasn't natural. It frightened him, and he had to dig his fingers in his hair to keep them from shaking.

Then he blinked, and his sky-coloured eyes were back, wide, and afraid. He slowly stepped back, shaking. He didn't see anything. Nothing at all.

He rolled his shoulders once more, pushing that gaze away, and tried to start the day.

Nothing at all.

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><p>(England's POV)<p>

Light crept into his room, spilling over the bed, drifting into his eyes. He slowly opened them, and felt a wave of pain creep into his mind. He sat up slowly and painfully, swinging his legs over the bedside, and stumbling over to the clock.

It was almost noon.

He stared numbly at it for a minute. Noon? How could he have possibly slept that late? And how did he end up in his bed? The last thing he remembered was smacking his head on the brick wall, and falling unconscious…perhaps it was one of his magical friends. Yes…maybe Unicorn carried him upstairs, and Flying Mint Bunny and his pixy friends helped heave him into bed. That had to be it, there was no other way.

He quickly got into his suit, and grabbed a quick pastry for brunch. His meeting with the prime minister was at 1:30, so there wasn't much time. As he walked into his car, he caught his reflection in the dark glass. The sun glared down at him, making it almost like a mirror.

His emerald eyes were gold. Lighter than Italy's amber, they were almost yellow. He glanced back up at the sky, wondering if that was the sunlight doing that, then he switched his gaze back to the window. They were gone, replaced by his normal warm, green gaze.

Shaking his head, he got into the car, and started the engine. He began to drive, and as he drove, he finished his scone.

Maybe he should sleep in more often, and maybe he should eat a bit more for breakfast. There was nothing wrong with just a little more, right? That was something he learned back when he was a pirate, there was always something more to be gained.

In the rearview mirror, a thread of gold darted through his eyes.

* * *

><p>(Canada's POV)<p>

A few hours later found Canada leaning back in his World Meeting chair, absently stretching his arms behind him. As usual, he was completely looked over by the rest of the nations. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He had resigned himself to simply being a part of the background. He would never be anything else.

'_Even if I deserved it, more than any of them.'_ The thought briefly crossed his mind, and Canada blinked, horrified at such a selfish thought. He shook his head slightly, as if clearing it from his mind. He then opened his eyes, wondering if it had brought any attention to him. Of course, it didn't. He let out a soft sigh, and then returned his attention to the meeting.

His lavender eyes briefly swept across the meeting room, scanning the different faces of the nations. Italy was leaning against Germany's arm, his eyes blinking sleepily. He seemed barely able to keep himself awake. Not only that, but he had nothing in front of him, not even preparing himself for the meeting. Canada briefly wondered if he had gotten out of bed himself, or if Germany had to drag him out.

Germany himself looked even more irritated than usual. His arms were folded angrily across his chest, which didn't seem to bother Italy, who was stubbornly sleeping on the German's shoulder, a small bead of drool rolling down his cheek. Germany's eyes were trained on France, who was flirting with the nations near him. Canada felt concerned for his _Papa_, before remembering that physical fights weren't permitted anymore. Not since the last one between Russia and America, which ended up destroying the entire room.

The Russian was sitting near the Baltics again, separating himself from his sisters. He kept trying to make conversation with them, but none would respond. Canada noticed that he had more vodka than usual, and that he seemed even more…even more _persistent_ than usual. Occasionally, the Russian would catch Canada's eye, and he would grin creepily at Canada. It was more than a little unsettling, especially considering that none of the other nations seemed to notice Canada.

Canada switched his gaze over to England and America. His brother was proudly announcing his newest idea, drawing the attention of most of the room. Canada felt the tiniest pang of envy. They had time for his twin's newest idiotic idea, but not Canada? It was so…unfair. Why couldn't he be noticed? Why was _he_ the one always looked over?

Once more, Canada pushed those thoughts away, instead opting to watch his brother and England argue once more. Germany shot up, sending Italy stumbling slightly. Germany paused to give Italy an apologetic look, before beginning to yell at them both. Italy sleepily got back into his seat, and England had the decency to look ashamed. America, though, argued back, causing Germany to get even angrier.

Canada sighed, and adjusted Kumajirou in his lap.

"Kumachiki…do you think they will ever pay attention to me?" Canada asked. The polar bear cub looked up at Canada, and tilted his head.

"Who are you?" the bear asked. Canada sighed.

"That's what I thought…never mind."

* * *

><p>(England's POV)<p>

The Briton watched America evenly, leveling his emerald gaze on the other's face. Nothing had changed about him since England had cast the spell a few days ago; he was still the same idiot he always was. He still had idiotic ideas, he still was loud, cheerful, and obnoxious…it seemed that his true self really _was_ an idiot.

England tore his gaze away, shifting his glare to his paper. It didn't make any sense. In the last few days, something should have changed. His personality, his thoughts…but nothing did. It was like his spell hadn't even been cast.

He closed his eyes, and turned his thoughts away. It was his turn to speak next, so he should be prepared. What did he want to do for his country? He had plans he had made with the Prime Minister for his economy, plans that involved working with America to come to neutral ground…but…he didn't want to. Not that it would be the first time they worked closely together, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. And it wasn't like England _hated _America so much that he couldn't stand to be near the other…it was just…

He didn't want to give up any money.

It was stupid, but it was true. He was already in trouble, so what was the point in giving up more money, even if it would help him more in the end? He was a pirate-he took what he needed, right? And if that meant helping his country, he still would. In fact, it seemed like a good idea. Steal from a richer nation, and make sure no one ever knew. Austria or Switzerland would be good choices, they both held tightly onto their money, so it would be deliciously ironic to see them as he-

'_What the hell am I thinking?_' He asked himself, horrified as he finally snapped back to reality. He tore his eyes open and blinked rapidly, pushing that horrifying plan away. The other nations were still paying attention to the speaker-Hungary-so they didn't see his face, or the strange golden gaze he now had, that vanished as he pulled himself into reality.

"England-san, are you okay? It's your turn now." Japan said. England jumped slightly, and faced Japan, who gave a gentle, concerned gaze to him.

"Yeah...I'm fine. Thank you." England replied slowly. His voice sounded hollow, even to him. He stood up, slowly walking to the front of the room, and he delivered his plan. He kept his eyes on his paper, never meeting the other's eyes. When he was finished, Germany called a break, and they all left. England remained in the room, staring blankly at the table.

If the spell did nothing to America…then it must have done something to England.

Shaking his head, the Englishman laughed and dismissed these thoughts. They were foolish, so foolish. So what if nothing changed about America? So what if he was feeling a bit different? There was nothing wrong. Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong.

Nothing wrong.

* * *

><p>(America's POV)<p>

"Hey Canada, you wanna go to a Starbucks real quick or something?" America offered, clapping a hand down on Canada's shoulder. The northern nation jumped, and he whirled around. Seeing it was his twin, he flashed a small smile.

"Oh, okay. But…do you mind if it's later, bro? I kind of already have plans…" Canada replied. America blinked.

"With who?" he asked. Canada's cheeks burned, and he turned away.

"Well…I haven't really made them yet, but I want to…" he replied. America followed his line of sight, and a soft smile settled across his lips.

"I see…why don't you go then? Don't just stand here, go ask her out!" he encouraged. Canada gave a thankful glance back to his brother, and then he took a deep breath.

"I will…I will…but…not today…" he finished, his voice trailing off at the end. America frowned.

"Why not? I'm positive she'll say yes!" he encouraged. Canada shook his head.

"N-no…she won't. Come on, let's just go, Al." Canada replied, turning around and walking out. His face was burning, and he was walking quickly, tugging Al's arm with him. They stumbled along the streets, until Canada pulled them into a random coffee shop.

"You know, Katsuyasha _would've_ said yes." America told him. "There was no need to run away like that."

"S-shut up. I'll do it later." Canada replied. America rolled his eyes, and America walked up to the counter. Both ordered their drinks, and they sat down. Canada was still embarrassed about his plan to ask Ukraine out failing, and America leaned back on the seat, relaxing and stretching out his muscles. He rolled his head around, and found his reflection in the glass, as well as Canada's.

A pair of deep, unsettling, violet eyes were staring back at him. They seemed to glow behind the glass, more than a simple reflection. The same gaze that America had found himself with that morning. Not only that, but Canada's eyes were brilliant, iridescent green, brighter than any green he had ever seen. He stared, completely at a loss for words.

He saw his reflection's lips pull into a smile, his purple eyes glittering from behind the glass. It was a proud, haughty smile, filled with superiority, and _power._ America could only stare back, unable to move, unable to breathe. He could only watch.

'_I'm better than the rest. I deserve it all, I can take it from them, and all it would take is a bit of force.'_ The thoughts poured into his mind, violating his very _core, _and America desperately pushed it away. This wasn't right, wasn't _natural_, what was happening to him?

"Alfred, why are you smiling?" Canada asked. America blinked, and he turned back to his twin. The green eyes were gone, replaced by concerned violet. America shook his head, and gave a sheepish grin.

"Nothing Mattie, I just saw something funny, that's all." America replied. Canada raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You look kind of…scared now. Are you sure you're alright?" he asked. America nodded. The waitress walked over to the table, and deposited their drinks in front of them. America took his in shaky hands, and took a deep, soothing sip. When he was finished, he set it down, flashing a cheerful smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine! And it's almost time to head back now, right? Let's go."

I'm fine.

I'm **_fine._**

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><p>(Italy's POV)<p>

He was tired. He couldn't explain why, but he was. The entire day seemed to weigh on him, dragging him from place to place. He could barely keep himself focused; it was like something was distracting him.

"Italy? Are you alright?" Germany asked. Italy blinked sleepily, his gaze finding his friend's. He gaze a reassuring smile. This was the first time all day that Germany had used a soft voice, he had seemed so angry that day.

"_Sì_…just tired." Italy yawned. He leaned against Germany's shoulder once more, shutting his eyes. He could feel the heat radiating from Germany's face, a really heavy blush. Italy let a soft giggle escape him, and he curled up, drifting into sleep.

'_Ice. Everything was light blue, striped with black. He could see other's smiling at him; each of them seemed to glow in the darkness. He found himself smiling back. They were like him, they understood. He reached his hands out, and he was pulled into blue and black. They could help him…they always would._

_But first…he had to help himself.'_

"Feliciano? Wake up; it's time to head back to the shelter." Germany said. Italy blinked slowly, casting a sleepy smile at his friend.

"Really…? I was having a nice dream…" he mumbled. A small smile touched Germany's lips.

"_Ja_, it is. Now let's go, you can have your _siesta_ later." Germany replied. They both stood up, Germany striding away, and Italy slowly stumbling after.

Everything was **fine.**

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><p>AN:

Please review~! I'm going to put a few shorter chapters together, just FYI.


	2. Cupio

A/N

And the next update! I hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>Nations, no matter how hard they tried, could never be what they were meant to be. They were cursed beings, forced to feel every wound inflicted on their countries by their people, by humans. They were immortal; they lived as long as their nation continued to exist, and even after they ceased to be. They were imperfect, as human as any of their citizens. They laughed. They loved. They sinned.<em>

_The world is not separated into black and white for them. There is grey, areas that pooled between decisions. Right and wrong, who knew which was which? Who cared, when it all ended the same? Why not live with a bit of pleasure in your life, why not live the way you wanted to, without responsibilities, without ties that bind you to the human plane?_

_He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was white, devoid of any human touch, any hint of individuality. He lay eagle-spread, unable to move, without even the desire to move. An open window revealed the sun peering in, with lazy puffs of white drifting by. He could smell the sharp bite of rust, tainted by another substance. Blood maybe?_

_Whispers drifted into his mind, deep voices that echoed words long forgotten. The words embraced him, held him in their grasp. A cheerful smile, his normal, happy smile danced across his lips, this was perfect. Everything was lovely, wonderful, perfetto._

_Slowly, he turned his head, until he faced the full-length mirror stretched before him. His auburn hair fell in his eyes, obscuring them slightly. His reflection reached a hand out to him, grinning back. He could see the icy eyes glittering at him, the palest, coldest blue he had ever seen. The window now revealed flame, and the bite of rust grew stronger._

_He smiled. _

_Perfetto._

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><p>(Russia's POV)<p>

If there was one thing to be said about Russia, it was that he was a very scary, very strong nation. He was also a very observant one, which made him all the more intimidating. Yes, one did not want to mess with the nation of Russia.

There was another thing to know about Russia, he was not dumb. He was a master at planning, and he had a perfect poker face. Though there always seemed to be something...evil about his grin, he was not one to snap. He held his temper very well, and he never revealed exactly what he was planning. He was a very patient, very intelligent nation. Hiding behind that sweet smile was one of the most intelligent minds in existence.

The third day of the meeting was usually the day that everything started calming down, and they could finally start getting things done. It was usually the day that they would finally start getting fights finished, and that Germany would get things in order. This meeting was no exception.

Russia sat there silently, smiling politely as Germany started barking at the other nations, silencing them. A brief bit of irritation started to build up in Russia. Wouldn't it be so much easier if he owned them all? He could protect them, help them, and they could all just stay in his house, happy and safe. It would be _so _much simpler if they all belonged to him, if they would all simply stay at his house.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Germany snapped. "WE STARTED THIS TO SOLVE OUR PROBLEMS, SO SHUT UP AND TRY TO GET THINGS DONE!" Germany slammed his palms on the table, shaking it. Russia's smile widened, his eyes almost shut with how wide it became. This was so irritating! Why wouldn't Germany listen to his ideas? Why wouldn't they all just simply become _his? __If they would love him…if they would give themselves to him; body and soul, then he could make them all happy. He loved them all, he really did, so why didn't they love him? Why didn't they want him? He wanted all of them…_

That was all he needed to solve the world's problems...that was all they needed…

To give themselves to him, and be his…

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><p>(Germany's POV)<p>

_Shadows flickered along the walls, deep black drenched in blood. There was a soft murmur of sound, gentle whispers thrumming with a power, like a deep heartbeat. The language was new, but familiar…it was a tongue that rolled off his lips with a powerful familiarity; it was _his_ language, one that he knew from so long ago…_

_Gold and black drenched him, floating around his tiny form, symbols of his power. The whispers greeted him, welcoming him home. He was back where he belonged, his home, where everyone fell to his feet, everyone bowed before God. He was the ultimate, holy being, an empire that held the world in his palm._

_His language-Latin, he knew that now, was carved into the walls. He could see a white figure, a boy in Priest robes, greeting him. He held a mirror carved with runes he didn't recognize. The Holy Empire walked over, and his tiny fingers pressed against the glass._

_A demon stared back at him. Bloody eyes, a twisted smile. He was a sin, a demon, an abomination. The darkness that crawled along the walls claimed him, and the Holy Empire screamed for the Priest in white. But it wasn't him. The Priest's eyes were as cold as ice…_

_Dead…_

Germany shot straight up in bed, his eyes wide, clutching at his pounding head. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart was racing frantically against his ribs. What the hell…? He stood up, and fell out of his bed, just barely catching himself. He felt light-headed, and his hands were shaking. He could still hear that chanting language thrumming in his ears. Everything else was fuzzy, though. He couldn't remember anything but the blue-eyes boy in the priest's robes, and that strange, familiar language.

That language…it was so familiar. Standing up, as if in a trance, he pushed aside his curtains in his windows, and took a look outside. Light poured in, cloaking him in its brilliance. He felt his iron cross against his chest, cold metal biting against the sun's warmth.

A prayer rolled off his tongue, in that old language he barely knew, Latin.

"**_O most merciful Jesus, lover of souls,_****_  
><strong>I beseech Thee, by the agony of Thy most Sacred Heart, and by the sorrows of Thine Immaculate Mother, wash clean in the Thy Blood the sinners of the whole world who are to die this day. <strong>_**

**_Remember most especially the soul I spiritually adopt with the intention of entrusting him or her to Thy Shepherd's care: I beseech Thee for the grace to move this sinner, who is in danger of going to Hell, to repent. I ask this because of my trust in Thy great mercy. _**

**_If it should please Thy Majesty to send me a suffering this day in exchange for the grace I ask for this soul, then, it, too, shall please me very much, and I thank Thee, Most Sweet Jesus, Shepherd and Lover of Souls; I thank Thee for this opportunity to give mercy in thanksgiving for all the mercies Thou hast shown me. Amen. _**

**_Heart of Jesus, once in agony, have mercy on the dying."_**

* * *

><p>(America's POV)<p>

"_O, say can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we held, at the twilight's last gleaming-?"_

America stood proudly with his hand over his heart, his blue eyes fixated on his flag. The baseball stadium was silent, thousands of proud citizens standing with the utmost respect for their song.

"_Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, o'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?"_

Pride filled America at his citizen's beautiful voice, and he couldn't help the wide smile that fell over his lips. He loved these events, when he could escape the harsh voices of the other nations, and just feel his heart fill with pride for his people, his land, and his country.

"_And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there-"_

He always felt so happy, so at peace when he listened to his song, when he saw the pride in his people's eyes. He was the hero, right? Shouldn't he help the other nation's feel this way? He was good enough, strong enough to make them all his, and he could always listen to his song and make them feel just as happy and at peace as him.

As he thought this, his eyes burned violet.

"_O! Say does that Star - Spangled Banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"_

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, America shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? He was the hero; he shouldn't be thinking those things! He had to just clear his head and watch the game, which would help, right?

"Al, why did you drag me here?" Canada complained. America looked back. Canada was sitting down, looking frustrated at being dragged out of his home and made to attend a game. He couldn't feel the pride that America could at his song, it wasn't Canada's after all, it was quite a shame, and it was such an amazing feeling.

America glanced up at his flag again. Well…there wasn't any harm in just _thinking _it, right?

* * *

><p>(England's POV)<p>

"AMERICA! AMERICA, OPEN UP!" England screamed, pounding on the door. There was no answer. He tried again, slamming his fist as hard as he could against the wood.

"ALFRED! OPEN THIS DOOR, IT'S IMPORTANT!" He yelled. There was still no answer. Letting out a cry of frustration, he slumped against the door, looking up at the sky.

It was a clear, cloudless blue, the same colour as America's eyes. He clenched his fist in frustration. He couldn't let this go on! Something bad had definitely happened with the spell, and he had to fix it! He was just about to go home and try a spell, when he saw America's car pull up in the driveway. He let out a sigh of relief and fled down the steps. The doors opened, and both twins stepped out. England immediately ran to America.

As he did so, Canada's eyes glowed brilliant green.

"Idiot, where were you?" England demanded. America smiled, and he laughed, just like normal.

"I was at a totally awesome baseball game, Iggy! You should have been there, it was great!"

"If by 'great' you mean 'a huge waste of time', baseball can't compare to _my _sports." Canada added. America grinned at his brother, still laughing.

"That's just because you're not awesome enough to appreciate it." America replied. They both erupted into an argument, and England felt relieved. They were both normal, both the exact same as before. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just paranoid.

Maybe-

Canada suddenly slammed the back of America's head against the car window, shattering it. England yelled in alarm, and America let out a cry of surprise. Canada, for a second, stood frozen, his emerald eyes filled with murderous rage, his entire body shaking in anger. His knuckles were white, his teeth were gritted together, and he was tense, watching the blood drip from America's temples…

And then he blinked, and the violet eyes were gone.

"Al! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" he panicked, pulling America's collar until his face was shown. His skin was covered in scratches and blood, and Canada looked close to tears.

America's eyes slowly opened.

He was smiling. His tongue swept across his lips, catching a drop of blood, and he was _smiling._

"I'm fine, Matthew. Now, please release me." He said. His voice was soft and smooth, like velvet. Canada did so, and he backed away, his face drained of colour. America stood up and wiped himself off, scattering bits of glass and twisted metal at his feet. He inspected his face and wiped his blood off, leaving behind smooth, unscarred skin at his touch.

All England could do was stare, transfixed at the boy he raised.

_What have I done…?_

"Al!" Canada yelled, snapping England out of his thoughts. England watched as Canada caught America in his arms, as the other nation fell to the ground, passing out. England raced to his side. Canada looked up, meeting his eyes.

"What is going on?" Canada asked. For some reason, even if Canada wouldn't understand, England felt the need to make amends.

"Matthew…I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>(Feliciano's POV)<p>

Feliciano stared in the mirror, transfixed by his reflection. Icy eyes stared back at him, a smile playing across his double's lips. Feliciano could feel that his own face was blank, not even a slight hint of a smile, and yet it seemed completely normal that his reflection was different. It was okay, there was no need to be concerned or worry in the slightest. He just needed to sleep. He needed to escape.

He pressed his hand against the glass, after his double reached out for him. He could feel the waves of sleep fall around him, pulling him under. It was okay, his reflection said it was. He could trust him. He trusted everyone. He needed the sleep, his double would protect him. He would save him and he would be there to keep him safe. He needed to sleep. He needed to be safe.

It was so much easier to escape. Then he could be with Holy Rome and Germany and Japan and everyone would be happy. He felt his eyelids flutter, and he fell to his knees, his eyes slipping shut. He lay there, still and happy, safe and protected in his double's arms.

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered again, and a smile touched the Italian's lips. He stood up, pushing his auburn hair back, smiling.

His eyes were as blank, as cruel, and as cold as ice.

* * *

><p>AN

Please review~!


	3. Dormite

A/N

Okay, new chapter! I hope you guys like!

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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><p>(France's POV)<p>

_Red stained the sky, streaked with blackness. Splatters of white painted the sky, doves fleeing the terrible scene, unable to stand the sight he was forced to see._

_An ear-splitting cry pierced the air, a heartbreaking shriek, spilling over with pure anguish. He held her in his arms, the one girl that meant everything to him, the girl that would carry him to greatness, the girl touched by God. She was burning in his arms, he could feel the flames licking his body, but he didn't care. He wouldn't abandon her, just as she never betrayed him. He threw back his head, his long hair touching his shoulders, and he screamed again, screamed for her God to save her, to carry her to safety like He had promised. She didn't deserve this! She was pure, innocent! She was just a girl, barely nineteen! She deserved to live, to love, to grow old and die with him! _

_He cradled her face to his chest, and he could feel her breathing grow shallower and slower, her burning body barely there. She was fading, melting to ash. He could feel his body burning with her. He wanted to burn. If she wasn't with him, there was no reason to live. She was his love, that love that only happened once in a lifetime, even for an immortal monster like him. She was everything; she was his heart and soul. She was his innocence, his life, his everything. _

_As the last of her faded from him, he knelt there, a broken shadow of a man. He saw a man march over to him, and the man looked up, meeting golden eyes. The man drew out a sabre, touching the other's chin._

_This was the greedy monster that stole her from him. _

_In one quick movement, the golden-eyed monster was on the ground, his sabre in the other's hand. He was stained red like the sky; his eyes wide open in shock. The other man leaned close, smiling a twisted, broken smile. _

_He wanted more, he needed her. When she was gone, his soul left with her._

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><p>(England's POV)<p>

"What the hell does that even mean? Why are you apologizing, what the hell happened?" Canada shouted. His voice was cracked with worry and confusion; he was barely able to stop himself from screaming. England winced, drawing back slightly.

"I….I…messed up, Matthew, I'm so-"England tried to start, but Canada cut him off.

"Arthur. What. The hell. Did you do. To my brother and I?" Canada asked slowly, each fragment punctuated with barely contained fury. A small pang of anger touched England, after all, shouldn't Canada be much more respectful to his elders, especially ones as deserving as England, but the gentleman quickly clamped that thought down, opting to try and explain himself.

"I tried to do a spell to reveal America's real personality, but I messed up the spell and-"

"WHY?" Canada exploded. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THE POINT OF DOING THAT? DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO HE REALLY IS? HE'S MY FUCKING TWIN! HE'S A PROUD IDIOT WITH A HERO COMPLEX, AND HE'S SMART BUT DOESN'T ACT LIKE IT BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" he almost screamed. "NOW WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM, AND I WANT TO KNOW WHY IT AFFECTS ME AND MAKES MY EYES GREEN, AND WHY I PUT HIM THROUGH A FUCKING CAR WINDOW!"

As Canada yelled this, he had stepped forward until he was almost in England's face. For the first time England saw how intimidating Canada could be, since he was the same height and build as America, which put him several inches taller than England, and also gave him the same well-toned build.

And yet…

For some reason, England wasn't afraid. In fact, it was rather pissing him off that Canada seemed to be threatening him. Before he knew it, England had tapped into his magic, creating that same odd black and gold spell circle.

"Do you want to know what I did, Mattie?" England asked. His eyes flared gold, and a smile appeared on his face. He pushed his palm out, sending Canada crashing against the hood of the car, slamming the back of his head against the windshield. America, who had been still unconscious, lying against the steps of the front porch, shot up at the noise. His eyes locked onto England, and they widened in…recognition? A smile stretched over his lips.

"Good morning, I see you are having a fun time throwing a little temper-tantrum. I do hope you plan on replacing my brother's poor car before Invidia awakens, you know how he is with his toys."

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><p>(Japan's POV)<p>

Though the Japanese man knocked politely at the Italian man's door for several long minutes, there was no answer. Japan wrinkled his brow, his sign of concern and frustration. He stood there for several minutes, his small hand raised in a knocking position. What should he do? He did not want to be rude and disturb Italy, what if his friend was busy? He did not want to make Italy upset, which would be so horrible…

Japan pressed his lips together in a thin line, his dark eyes narrowed, his dark, elegant eyebrows furrowed. He was very concerned about his friends. Though he wasn't a priest anymore, he still had…feelings about things.

Everything felt…off about his allies lately. Not only had that, but his other friends, America and England, felt strange. They felt almost dark….like some kind of shadow had descended over them. It disturbed him deeply, chilling him to the very bone. Not only that, but his friends had been acting off lately. Italy liked to take siestas, yes, but not this often…and Germany had been distant lately, that is, when he wasn't angry at everything…and even Russia had been strange. He never insulted America anymore; he always sat quiet, by himself, writing something on his clipboard.

Japan wondered if Russia was planning something. If his lust for power had taken over him again, if he was trying to take the rest of the countries in his Union again.

Japan's fist slowly lowered to his side, and he stood there silently, watching the door. He felt that feeling again, that horrible, chilling sensation. Dread clawed his heart, and he swallowed down a knot that had formed in his throat. Something horrible had happened in Italy's house. Something very, very horrible.

Slowly, he walked around the house, chills running fast down his spine. He listened carefully, praying to hear the sound of his friend's laughter, or pasta cooking, or anything that meant Italy was okay and _normal._

Eventually, he came to the backdoor. It was half-hidden, nested in grape vines and beautiful, proud trees. A statue of the Virgin Mary was standing nearby. Something about her seemed to rise a tiny bit of hope in Japan's heart. He was never a Christian man, but even he felt reassured by the sacred face of the beautiful, holy woman. He drifted closer to the statue, and he brushed aside ripe grape vines. The walls of the Italian's house themselves were inscribed with verses, all in Italian. He saw a verse that had been written in deep scarlet. The letters themselves were dripping, as if they had been freshly painted.

"_Proverbs: Chapter 19: Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger..."_

A chill ran down Japan's spine, his fingers frozen upon the wet, red letters. Sleeping. Italy had been _sleeping so much lately. _But…but this was ridiculous, right? Italy was a very religious nation; this had nothing to do with anything, right?

Japan drew his hand away. The wet substance was warm, and a strange aroma rose from it. He rubbed the wet, scarlet substance between his thumb and forefinger.

No.

_No._

It…it couldn't be…

Slowly, he licked his fingers. The substance tasted like metal, like dirty quarters. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to clap his unsoiled hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. This was…this was _blood! _Italy, sweet, cheerful Italy, had outlined a bible verse in _blood! _Slowly, Japan drew his hand from his face, trembling and pale. It had to be a mistake. That rusty taste…i-it was from the metal in the bricks, right? Maybe it was a kind of paint that was made with metal, something Yao tried, right? It had to be, this was Italy he was talking about! Sweet, innocent Italy…

He slowly approached the back door, a sliding glass one, hidden in a forest of vines. Hanging over it was a beautiful, knitted curtain with The Last Supper stitched in it. Somehow, he didn't felt reassured with the presence of such a holy, peaceful work of art. It chilled him even more that such a beautiful symbol of faith could have blood inscribed over it.

He grasped the handle, and pulled the door aside. Luckily, it was open. Japan slowly stepped inside. There was a staircase he knew, standing several feet away. He stepped lightly over to it, somehow _afraid_ of drawing his friend's attention. He padded silently up the steps, thankful that he knew exactly how to move without making a sound. When he reached the top, he realized something.

There was no familiar smell of pasta, no sound of music or talking, or even sleeping. There was just silence. Dead silence. Japan's heart thudded hard. What was wrong with this house?

He pushed open a door. Romano and Italy lived together, this was Romano's room. He held his breath, and moved silently, nearly dying of fright when the door squeaked ever-so-slightly.

Then the blood drained from his face, and he stood there, relief flooding through him.

Romano was asleep on his bed, the covers drawn up to his neck, his face peaceful. Japan felt a slight smile curl on his face. It was the late afternoon; the Italys were probably taking their siesta. In fact, Japan couldn't help but add; Romano looked kind of…_cute_ like this, with his face gentle and relaxed. Japan slowly walked over and took out his camera. I-it was for a private collection! It wasn't like he had secret pictures of America and Austria when they were sleeping…it was just a hobby!

As he approached Romano, he couldn't help but notice something. Romano wasn't moving. His blanket didn't rise and fall with his breathing. In fact, he didn't even _seem to be breathing at all. _Alarm shot through Japan, and he went pale. Dropping the camera, he pressed two fingers to Romano's neck. There was no heartbeat. Nonononono! T-this couldn't happen! He sprinted out of the room, intent on finding Italy and letting him know that something bad had happened to his twin…

Just as he reached the door, he saw Italy round the corner, nearly slamming into Japan. The Asian man stumbled back, and grasped Italy's hands.

"Italy! Come quick! I-it's Romano! He stopped breathing!" Japan cried out. Italy looked at him sleepily, and Japan jumped back in horror.

Italy's eyes were blue, and cold like ice. He could see no soul behind those eyes.

The demon smiled.

"Silly Kiku, he's sleeping. Do you want to sleep to?"

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><p>(England's POV)<p>

"Invidia? Who's that? America, what is wrong with you?" England demanded. A smile draped over the American's lips, and he stood up, his eyes gleaming.

His _violet eyes._

"My, my, you're a stupid one, aren't you?" He purred. Slowly, he walked forward, almost pinning England against the wall. England's magic screamed at him, alarm bells ringing in his mind that something was horribly off about America. That America could kill him if he wanted to. England's heart pounded in his chest, and he felt shivers crawling up and down his spine.

"Mortal, do you know anything about the past? Do you know your history, precious little thing?" America purred. His face was _so close now, _his eyes piercing into England's. It was like he could see right through him. England had never felt so vulnerable before, so scared for his life.

"Yes..." he whispered. America laughed.

"Then you should know me. I am something you do not want to piss off, mortal. I could kill you right now, torture you, strip your soul from your pathetic little body and use it to give me even more power." He purred, tracing one long finger over England's cheek, ending at the tip of his chin. He tilted England's face up, until he was looking directly into America's eyes. America smiled pleasantly back.

"But I won't. You are an interesting little pet, mortal. Besides, I'm waiting for you to join me, mortal. It will be so interesting to see how you fight against Avidita, mortal. Your little pet is already trying." America continued. He licked his lips, and leaned even closer. England could feel his breath ghosting across his lips.

"You will be a very fun pet indeed." He finally finished. Then he let England drop to the floor, and he walked away, until England couldn't see his retreating figure anymore.

England didn't move for a long time.

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><p><em>Proverbs 16:18<em>**_: _**_Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall._

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><p>(Kiku's POV)<p>

"Sleep?" the Japanese man asked. Feliciano smiled, the wicked grin sending chills down Kiku's spine and making his blood turn to ice. Feliciano's cold, blank, icy eyes bored into Kiku's warm brown orbs, and Kiku took a step back. Feliciano delicately strode toward him, until they were barely a step apart. The cold, cruel smile was still pasted over sweet, kind Italy's lips.

Feliciano leaned forward, until Kiku's vision was filled with chilling blue.

"Why are you afraid of me, Kiku? I am merely cowardly little Italy, nothing to be scared of." He said simply. Kiku wanted to scream. There was no reflection in Italy's pupils. No light bounced off his pale blue eyes. There was just blackness. Feliciano casually slipped a large, sharp blade from a sheath strapped to his thigh, holding it to the light, letting the golden light from the ceiling twinkle and shimmer off of the smooth, silver surface.

Kiku's breath caught in his throat. He was rooted to the spot, his limbs frozen and uncooperative. His back pressed against the wall, and Italy's smile widened.

"_Buonanotte." _

Kiku shut his eyes.

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><p>(England's POV)<p>

The Briton cursed slightly under his breath as a tiny bit of scalding tea fell from the cup, splashing onto his trembling hands. He used that tiny spill as an excuse to get up; stretching his stiff, restless legs, and retrieved a decorative towel to wipe off his wrist. Setting the cloth aside, a star-patterned one America had gotten him with a new tea set; the Briton resumed trying to soothe his pounding heart with the delightful taste of Earl Grey Tea.

Taking a deep breath, he bit his lip, clenching his shaking fingers into a tight, white-knuckled fist. Arthur had been sitting like this for the last hour. By now, he had almost gone through an entire pot of tea with his futile attempt to stop his racing mind from imagining more horrifying scenarios, but it had proved fruitless. No matter what the Briton did, no matter how much he cooked or tried to sleep, his mind would return to America, the boy he had called his own.

England's emerald eyes slowly drifted to Canada, the other boy he had raised, who was sleeping soundly on England's antique couch. Canada, who had been knocked out by his older twin. Once again, England bit his lip hard, and set down the teacup as he held his shaking hands to his chest.

This….was all his fault. How could Arthur have been so _stupid?_ What the bloody hell was he _thinking?_ What his magic could do….it was horrifying. That sweet child he had held….he was gone. He was just so _stupid, _so _dense!_

Canada's words once more pierced the Briton's mind, and sent another wave of guilt crashing over his core.

"_Do you want to know who he really is? He's my fucking twin! He's a proud idiot with a hero complex, and he's smart but doesn't act like it because of people like you!"_

People….like him. What did Canada mean by that? What did England do to make America hide himself from the world?

'_Not like it matters. America is gone.'_

The realization hit England again, crashing over him and pulling him down. The Briton put his face in his trembling hands, biting his lip and curling his fingers into his golden nest of hair. America was gone. That sweet, blue-eyed boy was gone, and he wasn't coming back until England fixed whatever mess he had created.

Arthur's shoulders shook as a burning feeling crawled up his throat, piercing his heart and hurting his eyes. Hot tears ran down his face, soaking his palms, and dripping into his lap. This was _his entire fault_. England had killed him. England killed America.

He had finally succeeded it what he attempted to do….so long ago on that rainy day…when he couldn't bring himself to shoot his rebelling colony.

The tears rained down his face, as he curled into a ball and released all of the horror, the guilt, the _anger_ he felt at himself. He was a monster.

A _greedy_, vile, bloody monster.

Finally, he ran out of tears. The mighty, fallen empire sat numb in his chair, his face cradled in his soaked hands. He numbly noted that a burn was developing on his wrist, where he had spilled his tea earlier.

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><p>(France's POV)<p>

France stared blankly out the window, his blue eyes dull and blank. It was May again. The Frenchman lifted the wine to his lips, taking a long, deep gulp. He wished he had something stronger than wine. Maybe he should ask America to teach him how to make Moonshine.

The other countries never reached out to him in May. They knew that this was the month where the country of _l'amour_ wished to be left alone. This month always filled him with melancholy, sorrow, and most of all, emptiness. Anger had long since left France, he hadn't felt it since the Napoleon wars…not since what he did to that child…no. The only thing left of him in May was a horrible, biting hollowness.

The Frenchman set the glass down, staring at it blankly. He could almost hear her chastising him for drinking too much. Her sweet, angelic voice telling him to get up and fight. France shut his eyes, attempting to remember her sweet, divine face. The way her pale skin was luminous in the moonlight, the way her gold-spun hair floated around her face like a divine halo.

But all he could see was fire. Fire and screaming and the smell of smoke. France's fingers dug into his hair as his teeth clenched. He could see her _again and again_, the scene playing an endless, torturous loop in his mind. His sweet angel….his _Jeanne…_was dying at the hands of the devil. He could still hear her sweet, beautiful, chiming voice whispering in his ear.

"_I am not afraid...I was born to do this."_

Every May….every May he remembered her. He was always able to fake a smile every other month of the year, but never May.

Once again, France saw her. This time, it was vivid, and accompanied by her screams, her desperate prayers to God. He could feel the heat of the fire…he could feel his own agony at her dying cries for salvation. He could see England watching impassively as Jeanne….his precious Jeanne…as she cried…

It was strange….he had never had visions like this before. He was never forced to see her….yet it happened again and again. By the time he finally passed out from exhaustion, he had seen her so much that he felt numb. He could see her and watch with dead eyes.

No….he did not feel numb.

He felt hatred.

Francis Bonnefoy fell asleep, as his dark, cold, empty sapphire eyes opened.

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><p>(Kiku's POV)<p>

The knife landed inches from Kiku's neck, slicing a sliver of ruby from Kiku's pale neck, drawing forth drops of scarlet. Kiku's heart pounded hard, Feliciano seemed confused that he missed, but Kiku took it as his opportunity to run. The Japanese man fled, sprinting as hard as he could, drawing fast and hard gasps of air. He sprinted out the door, ran to his car, jamming the key into the ignition, and speeding as fast as his car could go. Every three seconds he looked over his shoulder, making sure those piercing eyes weren't behind him.

Kiku could barely focus on the road ahead. His mind was racing, almost hurting with all the things he couldn't stop thinking about. His pale, long fingers shook from the tight grip he had on the wheel. His brown eyes were stretched wide with fear, his already pale face completely drained of color.

He had to go home…he had to tell everyone.

Something was wrong with Italy….something so terribly wrong.

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><p>AN

Please review~!


	4. Mors

A/N

One part of this chapter legitimately makes me sick. Well, two. Can you spot them? Oh, and Germany spouts some pretty awful, time-period-accurate things.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p><em>Fiery, hungry orange was all the woman saw, cold brick was all she felt. Her back was pressed against the wet, cold brick, the harsh rock digging into her thin, petite shoulder blades. She felt her thin chest heave as she stared up, wide eyed, at the monster leaning above her. His blonde hair fell in his orange, blood-crazed eyes; a mad grin split his jaw open, his teeth stained with blood. His skin was unnaturally pale, glowing in the low light of the moon, like a dark angel in the inky night. The woman couldn't even bring herself to scream, her veins were rivers of ice, weighing her down and pulling her to the earth. It was like demons were holding her in place, sneaking into her ribs and wrapping their talons around her body, their sharp nails digging into her skin and keeping her from running. <em>

_The angryfire in the man's eyes charred her alive, and the ice in her veins melted. Her throat was scratched with screams that desperately struggled in her vocal cords, fighting the snakes that held them in place. She felt the blade whisper against her neck, a Wusthof knife. Rain poured down the girl's cheeks, her bones rattling in fear. Her chest heaved as she cried; apologies and desperate pleas falling from her lips. The hellfire, gluttonous eyes burned, and the smile widened, the bloodstained lips curling in sick amusement._

_The girl screamed once, only once, as the waterfall of red spilled from her chest._

_It was morning before she was found, lying in snow, and her eyes wide open in terror. Not a drop of blood stained the snow, her clothes, or even her skin. Not a drop lay left in her body; she was a leather bag of bones. She was clean, free of her precious life. _

_And yet…..and yet he was still so, so hungry._

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><p>(Belarus's POV)<p>

Natalya's blinked her violet eyes slowly, her heart seizing in her chest, her cheek catching on fire. She dug her carefully filed nails into her palms, as if the pain would somehow wake her up from what was _surely _a dream. Brother…..he hadn't really said that, had he? There was no possible way; it was all too good to be true. Brother….did he really say that?

"I want you, Natalya, systra." Ivan repeating, sliding a callused, cold hand down Natalya's ivory cheek. Once again, her heart froze in her chest, but…..this was different. It wasn't how she imagined….he felt so…cold…

This wasn't right. This wasn't right. She didn't want this. This wasn't right.

Ivan's eyes bore deep into his sister's, and Natalya once again felt her breath leave her lips. Ivan's hands sank to her waist, wrapping his strong arms around her petite form. Natalya fell onto him, and she felt his course, cold hands stroke her hair and her back, goose bumps trailing behind his fingers. She shivered, unsure of what she was feeling. He was violating her. He was violating. She didn't want this. She felt sick. But she had to want this, but oh God, it hurt and she felt sick and everything was _badbadbad-_

"I want you, Natalya. I want you so much." He said again, his voice rough and deep, like gravel was in his throat, like shards of ice were twisting in her ears and making blood pour down and it hurt and it hurt and Natalya made a soft sound in the back of her throat, again feeling that odd feeling twisting in her stomach, and she hated this and hated this and-

'_But brother….he finally wants me!' _she reminded herself again, forcing a smile onto her pale, thin lips. Ivan's hands explored her back, undoing the striped bow that held her apron on. Natalya gasped, fighting the urge to jump back in shock, fighting the urge to run and run and never look back because she didn't want to be hurt or touched anymore. But this….this was good, right? He…he wants her. Natalya wanted this. She wanted it _so much!_

Ivan tugged her white bow out of her hair, the snowy fabric landing beside her apron. He undid the purple bow around her neck, kissing her soft, snowy skin that hid behind her platinum hair. Natalya gasped, shivering and shivering and she wanted to beat her hands against his chest and run away and never come back because he was making her sick and she wanted to run and run and run-

'_He wants me…..brother wants me….I am just shivering and cold because he is kissing me….brother is kissing me….' _Natalya repeated the mantra in her head again and again, locking her arms around Ivan's back to keep herself in his arms. She held her arms above her head when brother reached under her purple dress, the same colour as brother's eyes. She had to be still. She had to want this. She wanted this she wanted this but oh god-

'_I want this….I want this….I want this too. Brother loves me, he wants me. I want him too.'_

She felt his cold, rough hands on her back, his fingernails digging into the unscarred skin. She bit her lips to keep from crying out, unsure whether it was from fear or anger or regret or love. Her stomach twisted, her chest heaved, and she swore she felt her eyes burn. Tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Everything hurt, everything hurt, and he was violating her very soul…

Brother kissed her. She felt his cold lips on hers, his tongue sliding like a wet eel into her lips. She threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, because that was how she was supposed to kiss him…and because she wanted him. His hands held her hips, his thumbs hooking into her tights and past her panties. Her throat burned, her belly twisted and it felt like she had swallowed cold knives. She wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring those feelings. This was good, right?

'_I want this. I want this. I want him. I want him.'_

She stepped a delicate foot out of her pantyhose, and put of her Mary-Janes. She was as still as a doll, colder than a statue, while he looked at her. The only warmth was her heart, hammering in her throat, throwing her head into confusion. The floor wanted to drag her down, her feet wanted to run. She wanted to run, oh god, she hated this.

**_But she wanted this._**

Ivan held her in his arms, not moving while she stood. Natalya trembled, her fingers curling into his skin, trying to focus on not throwing up. She loved him, she wanted this.

'_Hush, hush, hush,'_ murmured a cold blade, the chilled metal pressed against Natalya's back, inscribing three whispers into her skin. Her eyes widened, and she squirmed, trying to desperately break his grasp.

"I want you, Natalya." Ivan purred again. "I want your body. I want your soul."

"B-brother?" Natalya stuttered, the words stumbling out of her mouth, laced with ice daggers, and vibrating with screams. She felt war, blood bead down her back. Ivan twisted her in his strong, iron arms, his sharp tongue lapping up the crimson seeds. Natalya screamed as his dagger tongue touched her. It was so, so cold, laced with icicles and glass shards. She thrashed, and rain fell freely down her face as she desperately tried to break the iron bars holding her in place. She heard Ivan's soft chuckles in her ear, that voice she had loved for so long now filled her with poison. She screamed and sobbed, shattering the windows and breaking her heart again and again. She felt the whispering blade against her chest, her blood already staining the hungry blade. She looked up at her brother, tears filling her voice, a single question falling from her lips.

"_Brother…..why?"_

She was shocked when she saw his eyes. A deep, sky-blue. Those eyes….she loved those eyes. Those were not Ivan's eyes.

Natalya focused on the colour, not the coldness and cruelty in those eyes. She loved those beautiful, sky-blue eyes.

She didn't scream as the blade cut into her chest. She just looked at the blue eyes, warm tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Because, Natalya. I want you."

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><p>(Germany's POV)<p>

_Smoke danced through the air, the horrid smell of burning flesh churned sickeningly with death and rot. Germany watched the creatures with an air of nonchalance as he entered the gray, stone walls, his gaze swept coolly over the starved, stretched faces of the things. Their dark brown sunken eyes watched him hungrily, begging, some cried, the ones that were hydrated enough to produce tears. They were monsters, all of them. Their skin caked with dirt and sick, some were covered from head to toe in lashes. _

_Germany could almost smell the fear on them. The way they flinched as he drew near gave him a feeling of satisfaction. These things should fear him. They weren't human. He narrowed his eyes in contempt at them as he passed by, walking to a man who was worthy of him, a human in this place of monsters._

_One little thing broke away from its mother. Germany took in its appearance. Auburn hair, not the proper human blonde. Amber eyes, not brown. It was a thing. He saw the pink triangle branded on its wrist, as well as a number. Its mother called out to it as the thing approached Germany. It was a child, no older than six. It wore white robes, a mockery of God, considering the brand of disgust on its wrist. This thing was not only not Aryan, it was a homosexual. Child or not, it deserved to die._

_Germany sneered in disgust, his cold blue eyes hardening into orange. He distantly heard its mother calling its name, Feliciano. An Italian. No wonder this thing didn't understand what he said. It wasn't even proper German. The thing attached itself to his leg. Germany could see its gaunt face; he could feel the bones of it digging into his legs. Hate poured like hot lava through Germany, multiplied by anger. He watched the horrified faces of the creatures around him. The creature looked up at him with pleading, large amber eyes. Germany glared at him, drawing out his Walther P38._

"_Get off me, you faggot _schwine_!"_

"Ti amo, Ludwig_."_

_Germany pulled the trigger. In one instant, the piece of trash was dead, its little body falling into a pool of blood. Germany licked the little bit of blood that splattered onto his lip, tasting the sweet, dark wine that he created._

"_Put the _schweinhund_ in the oven. No use wasting perfectly good firewood." Germany barked. The soldiers nodded, picking up the thing's old body, running to the ovens._

_Germany began walking out, his gaze passing over the grieving mother sobbing over her child. He sneered at it. Why was it sad? Another piece of filth was gone. He would remember to put the thing's mother out of misery, kill her too._

_And so, the Aryan walked out, smiling to himself as he passed the smell of rot and sick and sorrow and death. What a good day. Maybe they would have a parade of the _schweins _later. He was feeling hungry, too. Maybe he could have the faggots line up while he shot them off one by one. France, Poland, Lithuania, there were so many. He could drink their delicious wine while they lay bleeding to death like the slaughtered pigs they were. _

The German's eyes snapped open, his stomach churning and heaving like mad. He shot up and sprinted to the bathroom, hugging the toilet while the sick images flashed through his head. Oh god…he couldn't even comprehend. He got to his feet, his knuckles gripping the sides of the sink. His head spun, his heart was beating like mad, and…god he couldn't even stand. He ran his strong fingers through his hair, resting his forehead against the porcelain, and trying hard to breathe. How long had it been now? And he was still having nightmares? God…the stench was still crawling in his nose. That horrible scent of death….it almost made him sick again.

Worst of all was the ringing. That horrible sound that crashed through his skull, screaming things he couldn't understand. He could almost see the outline of something. A boy. A cross. A man with blue eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut while the noise screamed through his head, threatening to deafen him.

**_Igno scemihi, domine, dimitte peccata mea;_****_  
><strong>Peccataiu ventutis meaeet delictamea senectus peccatum animae<strong>  
><strong>peccata corpus meum; meaotio sumpec catorum, measeria voluntaria peccata;<strong>  
><strong>Peccata Sciopeccata meaignora repeccata abscondi<strong>  
><strong>tam diulatuit, nunc, et doloremomne peccatum mortale et veniale,<strong>  
><strong>adulescentia meaus queadhanc horamomnibus peccatis.<strong>_**

**_Scio peccata meapercus sitenerum cortuum,_****_  
><strong>Domine Deus noster, vinculis liberatum memalum<strong>  
><strong>acerbissimep assionisre demptor meus. I esu, dimittequa eoblitussum. Amen.<strong>_**

* * *

><p>(England's POV)<p>

It had been three days since he saw Flying Mint Bunny and weeks since he had seen his fairies. All of the other magical creatures, his unicorn and the sprites, they had all vanished just after he had performed his spell.

It had also been almost three days since Canada fell asleep. He woke up at intervals, dazed and confused, just barely long enough to eat before he fell asleep. There was no apparent cause for this; there was no concussion, no cuts, not even a bruise. He was just….out of it. Maybe this was Mattie's way of dealing with this. England didn't know….when he wasn't taking care of Matthew, he was looking through his magic books. Day after day he tore through his basement, digging through potions and spells and anything he could think of that would reverse it. He begged his familiars to come, the fairies, but not a twinkle of pixy dust showed.

All the while, the Briton was getting worse. He was having nightmares, horrid ones. He was blacking out during the day, and waking up in other places, with no idea how he had gotten there.

He was losing control of his magic.

That much was getting apparent. His wand would blow up on him, showering him with painful flares. Many times he would nearly set things on fire, as if he was a novice rather than a master. He could barely make a potion without blacking out and nearly setting the place on fire. No wonder none of his friends would show…

Arthur stumbled down to his basement, dizzy and confused. His eyes were blank and distant, like he was in another time. He pushed open the door and stumbled inside, drawing out his wand. The potion was a thick, molten gold, boiling over a rich, warm fire. He smiled, his eyes flashing gold.

Gold…it was the best thing in the world, better than the luxurious taste of blood. He remembered the time that he had slashed Antonio open, watching the rich crimson liquid spill over the dark skin. That fool. He had no idea of the value of gold. The stupid brute. Arthur stumbled over to the cauldron, grinning madly into its boiling surface. He reached into the scalding liquid, ignoring the rich pain that crawled up his hands. The gold….the rich, beautiful, luscious liquid. Scarlet bloomed in the potion, the rich, scarlet gold that spilled from Arthur's own hands. Oh, it was so beautiful.

Arthur laughed with childish glee at the beauty of it all. He knocked over the pot, the gold spilling into the room, filling it up with pure beauty. Arthur put his hands on his face, laughing as the scarlet and gold washed over him. It melted into his skin, whispering promises of wealth. He laughed and laughed until his lungs hurt, and then he laughed until his tongue bled and rivers of scarlet flowed down his cheeks. Sparks flew from his wand, showering the room in fire. Shadows danced and shivered while Arthur laughed and sang to himself about the riches and blood that would flow very soon.

* * *

><p>(Ukraine's POV)<p>

Katsuyasha cradled her against his chest as she sobbed, rocking her little sister back and forth lightly in her arms like the maternal woman she was. She buried her face in her sister's platinum hair as she sobbed, shakes wracking her frame as she cried. This…this wasn't what was supposed to happen to her precious younger sister. She was supposed to find someone who would make her happy….this had to be an illusion. It couldn't be real.

Katsuyasha dipped her face down, nestling it in her sister's hair as she cried. She held her sister close, letting grief close in. She had to find out….whoever did this…they would die.

* * *

><p>(Canada's POV)<p>

The blackness was comforting, friendly in a way. Black silk draped around his skin, kissing and caressing his snowy features. He embraced the blackness; it was gentle and familiar, like holding an old friend one hasn't been with for years. The fingers of blackness stroked his hair, piercing his thin chest and touching his blackened heart. He couldn't help but smile and the gentle warmth and comfort of his old friend. It felt so lovely to be warm again, it was wonderful to hold his long, tapered fingers to his chest again, and feel the gentle drum of life. How lovely it would be to watch it flow from the hearts of others, how he would smile at the rich blood that spilled from the chests of the fallen. He deserved the feel of ecstasy he was rewarded with when he carved the humans, pigs, really, open and watched the souls drain from their eyes. He almost shivered with glee. Oh yes, he loved the blackness.

Slowly, the shadows faded from the corners of his mind, and he could feel himself stir, his mind shifting into existence, and feeling pushing into his body. The first thing he was aware of was the slow, soothing flame trickling down his back. The trails of warmth bled into his skin, whispering to his bones. The trails of warmth again began trailing from the crown of his head, tangling in his hair, and brushed down his shoulders, ending at the base of his spine. It was such a strange feeling, unlike any he had ever felt before. It was enticing, not at all like the ecstasy of bloodshed, but warm all the same. His back arched around the chill-inducing touch, and he heard an equally warm voice purr in his ear, soft and heated, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his emerald eyes cracked open, half lidded in sleep and warmth. What a wonderful way to wake, with the voice of whispering into his soul, the melting feeling pulsing through every vein in his body, setting each nerve on fire.

**_"Evigilabit, invidiae. Iterum redeamus mari Rubro sanguine."_**

Invidia...yes, that was his name. His piercing green eyes locked into the glowing amethyst ones, and a cold smile found his lips.

"Superbia, I should have anticipated it would be you to find me." Invidia responded. Superbia smiled, leaning forward until he was almost touching Invidia, his lips stretched into a wide, exuberant smile, and he licked his lips, excitement ablaze in his eyes. A shiver of anticipation raced up Invidia's spine. He could almost feel the blood awash over his skin, he could taste it upon his lips, it was beautiful and rich. He could feel the thousands he would slay, it was rich and enticing.

"You have guessed well, Invidia." Superbia replied, his eyes closing in his smile. "There is a reason why I found you. We have a special, wonderful set of beings to slay. We can literally feast upon the souls of the world, one nation at a time."

Invidia tilted his head as he gazed into Superbia's eyes, searching for a hint of deception. When he found none, a smile spread across his lips once more, and he sat up. He felt Superbia's warm, comforting arms curl around his waist, and he pressed against the host body, purring. Oh yes, oh yes, this was _wonderful._

"Who shall we slaughter first?" Invidia asked. Superbia laughed.

"That is a surprise. I'll lead the way."

* * *

><p>(Germany's POV)<p>

It had been almost a week since the blonde had seen the Italian. Worry was beginning to choke him, so he decided to go and drop by unannounced. It was also an excuse for the German to get out of the house. Prussia had been staying at Hungary's for the last week, for what Germany was suspecting was flirting, though he would never admit it. This left Germany is the house alone, unable to sleep because of the terrible nightmares lately...

Oh well, a trip to Italy's would definitely put his mind at rest. The Italian always had a way of taking his worries away, whether it be through his ridiculousness...or his way of just making Germany...happy.

Ludwig decided that a walk would clear his mind, and that fresh air, as well as a change of scenery, would do him well. He hadn't had any contact with the outside world for a while, so it would also give him a chance to reconnect with his people...or at least see them. He should also watch the news once more, perhaps he would have something to talk about.

_Nein_...Italy wasn't exactly one for conversation.

Walking out the door, he found himself spacing out. It was strange, he almost felt like he had been through this area before recently...and a thrill of something ran up his spine. He suddenly saw blood. It stained him, it crashed over him and flooded the streets and he was _so so hungry..._

And then pain crashed over his skull once more, just like the other day. It was so intense; it was horrible and burning at the same time. He gritted his teeth, hissing in anger. Oh god, oh god...

Cold arms embraced him, and he was frozen to the bones.

"_Welcome home, Avaritia."_

* * *

><p>AN

Please review~!


	5. Salus

A/N

This lets you all know what happened to Kiku, and what he's been up to. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>(Yao's POV)<p>

Yao was awakened from his sleep by the sound of screaming. It was a loud, bloodcurdling scream, as if someone was dying. For a moment, he lay in his bed, listening to the endless torrent of rain drumming on his roof. Then the scream rose again, hair-raising and loud, the scream of someone using their last breath. Every hair on the Chinese man's neck stood, and his heart stopped.

Yao man rocketed out of bed, stumbling to his door, and peering into the blackness wildly, his chocolate eyes trying desperately to search through the night. He stepped onto his porch, his eyes narrowed into slits, his long hair whipping in the screeching wind of the storm. For a moment, there was nothing…

Then something slammed into him. He felt a warm body holding onto him, shaking and crying. Yao stood there, frozen, before he hesitantly wrapped his arms around the shaking, small body, staring blankly at it.

"N-nii-san..." came the soft, hoarse whisper from the tiny, shaking boy. Yao's eyes widened as he stared down at his younger brother, shaking and scared, like he had never seen the proud Land of the Rising Sun before. Yao's eyes softened, and he drew Kiku into a tighter hug, stroking his inky hair gently, as a parent would do for their crying child. He shushed the younger nation softly, as he had done so many times when Kiku was just a child.

"It's okay, _didi_. It's okay, I'm here. Now let's go inside, I'll make you tea." Yao said softly to the island nation, who nodded hesitantly, his face still hidden in the ancient nation's chest, and his long, pale fingers digging into Yao's shoulders. It was all Yao could do to gently pry Kiku's arms away from himself, and gently take the younger nation's hand, squeezing Kiku's fingers tight in his hand. Kiku was shaking hard, his cocoa eyes squeezed tight; he looked as if he had run away from the devil himself.  
>Yao gently sat him down, and he walked over to the kitchen, setting a kettle boiling on the pot.<p>

"What kind of tea?" Yao called absently, attempting to start a conversation. For a long time, there was no reply, then the soft, cracked voice of Japan reached China's ears.

"J-just...g-green tea..." he said, his voice barely heard over the relentless rain. China left the tea kettle to heat up, then he walked back into the living room, and he sat down next to Japan. The island nation quickly latched onto China's hand, squeezing his fingers tight, as if he was afraid that China would leave him in the torrent of rain once more. China gently stroked the palm of the island nation. Though it had been over a thousand years since he had raised a child, he had never lost the paternal love he had for all of his children.

"What happened, _didi_?" China asked. Japan shook his head, his lips pressed into a pale, thin line, and he let his head hang down, his inky bangs covering his eyes.

It was then that China noticed that Japan wasn't wearing his normal, traditional _hakama, _or even the fashionable western clothing that he normally wore. Instead, he wore a simple white, long-sleeved shirt that was several sizes too big for him. The shirt was torn at the edges of his sleeves, and stained crimson around Japan's torso...it looked like blood. It was also dirty and baggy, hanging off of Japan's petite frame. The pants he wore were in no better condition, they were sweat-pants stained with the same maroon stain, and soiled and torn with dirt and filth. It was nothing like what China had ever seen Japan like. Even when we was dying, China had always known the island nation to be a proud one, the nation that would go out with a gentle smile and a soft _'sayonara'. _He would never let himself break...

"Kiku, please..." China begged softly, looking at Kiku intensely, though he knew that Kiku's hidden eyes couldn't see the worry in his. Japan's hand began to shake more violently, until Yao was sure that he was shaking with Kiku. Finally, the proud Japanese man looked into his eyes. Yao was shocked by the pure fear in those eyes, fear he had never known in Japan's eyes, not even when America had sent him the warning to surrender, before destruction would come to him...

"It's..." Japan rasped, his voice soft and shaking. "Have you...heard of _Amatsu-Mikaboshi_?" Kiku asked. China blinked, and frowned, before recalling the minor Japanese deity.

"He's...the Shinto God of evil, right?" China asked. Japan nodded, his eyes shutting.

"He is a dark force that brings chaos..." Japan replied softly. "Like the Christian devil, he corrupts others and brings evil into the world."

"What about him?" China asked. Japan shook his head, chewing on a pale lip.

"He would be proud...something has happened to Italy..." Japan said, barely able to choke out the Mediterranean nation's name. China blinked, then grasped Japan's hand tightly.

"What is it, Kiku? Is he hurt? Did someone try to conquer him?" China demanded. To his surprise, the normally blank nation of Japan teared up, his cocoa eyes glassy and red with tears.

"No...he tried to kill me." Japan whispered, his voice heavy with tears. China stared blankly at Kiku.

"He...what?" China asked. Tears ran down Japan's cheek, and China immediately grabbed a tissue for him. The tea kettle went off, demanding for Yao to take care of it. Yao ignored it, instead focusing on Kiku.

"Feli...I ran from him when he held up a knife to my throat...h-he already killed Romano and Antonio...I ran and ran, but...but something grabbed me. I-it wasn't Italy...it was...darkness. Blackness itself reached up and grabbed me and Italy was there, and his eyes were blue and he had a knife...h-he stabbed me again and again...and dragged me back to his house..."

Kiku's voice broke, and China's eyes landed on Kiku's middle, on the maroon stain. As if feeling Yao's eyes, Japan lifted up his shirt. A nightmare was stretched across the Japanese man's torso, deep wounds barely scabbing, blood stained over his chest and torso, black and flaking off the skin. China's hand clapped over his mouth in horror. Japan pulled his shirt back down, his arms crossed tight over himself, as if he was trying to protect himself once more from Italy's blade.

"I was kept in his hounds...chained to the attic space...I had no food...and every day, he would come back and smile that same, little, innocent smile while he stabbed the same place again and again...I escaped when I could finally cut the rope free with a shard of glass from a picture frame I broke behind me...and I ran and ran and I made it to the airport...I-I don't know why he didn't kill me right away...maybe he did the same thing to Romano and Antonio, but we just didn't know..." Kiku's voice broke once more, and he looked away.

"We...we have to tell everyone...how long have you been away?" Yao asked.

"I just escaped today...I came here...I couldn't think of anyone else to come to..." Japan replied, his voice soft and broken. Yao threw his arms around Kiku, and held him tight against his chest. Kiku broke down, sobbing into Yao's chest.

"We'll tell everyone tomorrow, let's make your tea and you get some rest." China said to Japan, who finally fell silent. China stood up and poured the water into a glass, setting a tea bag into it. He reentered the living room, handing it to Japan, who gratefully took it with trembling fingers, and took a sip. China sat down next to him, deciding to tell Russia everything tomorrow.

* * *

><p>(Germany's POV)<p>

The first sensation that washed over him, strangely enough, was relief. He knew this voice, he knew the heart beating against his chest. It was familiar, he knew the feeling.

"Italy..." the word escaped him before he even knew he was speaking. The bright, smiling face of the Italian looked up at him, eyes shut in the smile.

'_She is just as beautiful as ever..._' the sentence drifted through the Ludwig's mind automatically. He wrapped his arms around the Italian, burying his face in the auburn hair, enjoying holding her. This was a dream come true...he came back to her, and she had been waiting for him.

"I'm so glad I found you!" The Italian chirped, smiling. Ludwig smiled in reply, his eyes softening as he listened to the sweet, musical voice. It had to be a dream, just like when he kissed her.

"Me too, Italy." he replied to her. The Italian giggled, holding him closer.

"You're different..." she suddenly remarked. Ludwig blinked in surprise.

"What do you mean?" Ludwig asked her. The Italian looked up at him, her icy blue eyes narrowed.

Italy doesn't have blue eyes...

"Who are you?" Ludwig asked, prying himself away, and drawing a pistol from his holster he always kept strapped to his waist. The Italian...no, whatever it was, smiled a cold, cruel smile and strolled over to him. Ludwig's hand shook, his finger hovering over the trigger. He...he just couldn't bring himself to shoot Italy.

There was a sudden, stabbing pain in his waist. Ludwig coughed, blood spurting out of his mouth. Italy laughed coldly, and stabbed again, this time in Ludwig's back.

"I'm Acedia, Gula. And if you don't join me, you're going to die a nice, slow death." Italy said between giggles.

The last thing Ludwig was aware of was blinding, white-hot pain, before he was cloaked in blackness.

* * *

><p>(China's POV)<p>

The cold was almost unbearable, clawing and biting at his small frame, raging and howling in his ear, as if screaming at his intrusion upon General Winter's territory. China stood motionless in front of his old friend's door, his wide, brown eyes simply taking in the appearance.

It was strange, really, the feeling that bore into the Chinese man's heart. He had known Ivan since the Russian was born. He had taken care of him; though not as a son, like Japan, but he had still befriended Ivan and helped protect him. He had no reason to fear him, really. Ivan even loved him, in his own, strange way. It was almost endearing, the way his violet eyes would glow when he saw the Chinese man, like they did for no other.

If China didn't know any better, he would say he even saw Ivan smile-a real smile-when he was with China.

But now...China couldn't quite say why...but he felt dread clawing in his heart. He knew that he was supposed to trust his instincts...but...what could go wrong, right? Besides, he always felt the need to protect Ivan, and now should be no different.

Raising a petite, gloved hand, he gave three gentle raps upon the door. After a moment, he was greeted with the gentle, smiling face of the Russian. Yao immediately let out a relieved sigh, and smiled up, though slightly apprehensively, at the Russian. Ivan took him gently by the arm, barely enough to be considered a leading touch, and took Yao inside.

"Good morning, China. What brings you here?" Russia asked politely, smiling at China. Yao sat down in a wooden chair, taking off his winter coat and draping it over the back of the seat.

A chill ran up his spine.

"It's...kind of important. Japan...he came to me today, and he was...hurt. He was crying..."

"Japan?" Russia cut in, confused. China nodded, looking down at his hands.

"He said...it was because if Italy...I know it sounds crazy, but he was so bloody and hurt...he said Italy held him captive and stabbed him...I think we have to tell people, let the word out. I mean, if something like this is happening, then who knows what Italy could do..."

Yao's voice suddenly dropped, and he went silent. After a moment, he spoke once more.

"His Grandfather was Rome...do you remember what Rome did?" Yao asked. Not waiting for a reply, Yao spoke once more.

"Everyone he didn't like, Romulus killed. Those he captured were made to fight to the death, or they were brutally slain by lions and other creatures...Romulus was a conqueror...and I know you saw how mad he became...if Italy becomes like him, I...think we have to stop him somehow..."

"This is a little extreme, _da_?" Russia asked. "Perhaps Japan was mistaken..."

"I know how it sounds, Ivan...but please, listen. I don't think Japan is lying..." China started, trailing off in the end. The look Ivan was giving him meant that the Russian wasn't listening. After a moment, China sighed, standing up, and retrieving his coat.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, Ivan. I have to go..." China stated, deciding to instead tell someone else who would listen. Perhaps he would call an emergency world meeting.

"_Nyet, _wait!" Ivan started, standing up. China blinked in surprise, turning around to face Russia. Strangely enough, there was a strange look in the Russian's eyes. An almost desperation that consumed his expression, as if he physically _needed _Yao to remain. The Chinese man paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before he relented to the Russian's wished.

It was almost...sweet in a way. It was the same kind of look Im Yong Soo gave Yao when he was a child, and he had nightmares that persisted, and simply wouldn't go away.

"What is it, Ivan?" Yao asked, turning to look at the Russian. Though the word choice itself was harsh, the tone was gentle. Ivan looked away.

There was a strange...shadow of something in his eyes. A strange kind of darkness seemed to flirt with the edges of the Russian's eyes, shadowing the gentle violet in a kind of...hue that the Chinese man had never seen before. Another chill ran up the Chinese man's spine, despite the fact that he was now shrouded in his heavy winter coat, a coat so thick that he only used it when he visited the northern nation.

"I just...don't want you to leave..." The Russian admitted. A smile worked its way onto the Chinese man's lips, and he shook his head, smiling, once more, as he did when he comforted Im Yong Soo as a child.

"I won't, Ivan." Yao replied, walking over and standing before the Russian, removing his coat as he did so. Ivan smiled the same, gentle, happy smile that he always did.

"Thank you, Yao." He replied.

There was a sudden, ripping pain in Yao's stomach, and he fell to his knees, screaming in pain. There was another tear of pain in his throat. Blood bubbled up through his screams, spilling down his body, dribbling onto his chest. The skin tore, the blades shearing down the Chinese man's skin, white bone shining out crisply through the red stain of blood. His hair, long and shiny, a symbol of his honour, tore away with skin, as the powerful Russian pulled.

Wounds that _should _kill _wouldn't._ For he was a nation, and he would survive as long as his country did. He would survive, until his capitol was pure ashes.

"How ironic, isn't it?" Ivan laughed. "That I would be the one to kill you?"

China could not answer, not when the only thing holding his head to his body was a thin string of bone.

* * *

><p>(Japan's POV)<p>

When Kiku woke up, he found a note from China, explaining that he had gone to see Russia. But when he had called, there was no answer. Germany's line was dead, China was gone, and America's line was also dead.

The only thing Japan did, the only thing that seemed reasonable, was to curl into a ball and cry.

And so, the proud Land of the Rising Sun was broken.

* * *

><p>AN

Please review~!


	6. Crudelis

A/N

The first real torture scenes. Be ready.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>(Romano's POV)<p>

He woke up to sobbing.

The sobs sounded like nothing he had ever heard before. They were broken and filled with despair, cracked and hopeless, like a dying man. Romano tried to move, to get to whatever was making those heart-wrenching sounds, but he couldn't. His wrists were chained against the cold, wet wall, as well as his ankles. He was stuck in a standing position. The only thing he was able to twist was his head, and he did so.

Spain's head was hanging low, his brown curls covering his sparkling eyes. His entire body was limp, the only thing holding him upright being the strength of the iron. Romano noticed that the cross Spain always wore had been removed for some reason. The Italian's eyes slowly traced Spain's body, and he noticed something that sent him into dry heaves.

Antonio, back when he was a conquistador, had a tattoo of the holy, sacred crucifix on his torso, from his hips to his neck. It was a gorgeous tattoo, though nothing the Italian would ever consider getting himself, due to not wanting to endure any pain.

The tattoo was gone.

It wasn't that it had been covered up or removed by lasers. The tattoo was _gone-_stripped away from the Spaniard's flesh. From his neck to his hips was nothing but raw, infected skin, oozing with dirt and pus and half covered in scabs. Romano heaved again and again, tears streaming down his cheeks at the sight. This was a nightmare. That was not Spain. Not Spain. Anyone but his _idiota, _anyone!

"L-Lovi, are you awake?" Antonio asked, looking up at Romano. Fresh tears streamed down Romano's cheeks as he looked into Antonio's face. The Spaniards eyes were dull and lifeless, nothing to illuminate those green eyes. Romano gritted his teeth, his lips quivering.

"_S-si, _otherwise I wouldn't be looking at you and talking you fucking _idiota!"_ Romano snapped, holding back the sobs that were threatening to crawl once more out of his throat. Antonio smiled weakly at Romano, and a dry, empty laugh escaped his lips.

"I see, sorry. I just...wanted to see you." Antonio said, still with that smile on his face. Romano cried harder when he saw that smile, because even he could see why the idiot was smiling.

He wasn't happy, he just wanted to see Romano happy.

"Stop that, Lovi. I'm okay, see? I can talk, I can smile. I'm fine." Antonio added, smiling again at Romano. The Italian didn't even attempt to save face and argue that he wasn't crying for Antonio, as he normally would.

"_Chigi...CHIGI!" _Romano screamed, throwing back his head. "Damn it! Why, why?! Why you? Why not me?"

"Because I said it should happen to me first." Spain said, looking calmly at Romano. The Italian froze and looked at him, his gold eyes wide.

"What?"

"I told him that I wanted to protect you and go out first. It's selfish, but..."

"YOU FUCKING _IDIOTA_!" Romano screamed. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!"

"I love you too, Lovino." Antonio replied, smiling.

"I hate you...I can't, I can't see you get hurt! I love you, you fucking bastard! I can't, I can't!"

"I know, Lovi, I'm sorry."

At that moment, the door opened, and a crack of light entered the room. Two figures framed the doorway.

Alfred F. Jones, and Feliciano Vargas.

"America, AMERICA!" Romano yelled, hope crashing over him. Alfred always claimed he was the hero, there was no way he wouldn't help them! He was good, he was kind, and he was loving and hopeful and everything that the Italian needed at that moment. He would help, he would help!

Romano didn't even register the nailed baseball bat the American was holding, nor the glowing purple eyes, or even the hollow smile on his face.

The two nations calmly walked over to the Spaniard, who stared blankly ahead, his eyes calm, not showing any sign of the burning pain he must have been feeling.

"Did you know that there is a way for a nation to die without his culture vanishing?" America asked.

Romano's blood went cold, and once more, hot tears budded in his eyes.

_No._

_Not him..._

"It's so, so simple. Destroy the capitol, and the nation is mortal." America finished, smiling.

Antonio didn't blink.

"They will know." he said simply, staring back evenly.

"We're counting on it." Feliciano replied, flashing his normal carefree, happy smile.

Alfred grinned, and swung the bat.

The nails dug into Antonio's open wound with a sickening, hollow thud, tearing open the flesh, and spilling out blood. Antonio screamed, throwing back his head, crying out in a horrific, animal sound of pain. America laughed madly as blood splattered on his cheeks, his lavender eyes widening in pure ecstasy. He swung the bat again, catching chunks of flesh onto the rusted nails. Tears streaked down both the Italian's and Spaniard's cheeks. Bubbles of blood formed at the corner of the Spaniard's mouth, and spilled town his tanned lips, joining his crimson chest. Romano flinched as he saw the bones, twisted and cracking in the Spaniard's torso. He smelled the metallic blood, he saw the muscle and flesh catch on the nails and fall to the floor in sickening heaps.

And all Romano could do was cry.

America laughed, and swung a third time, this time aiming for the Spaniard's head. Romano shut his eyes, crying, not able to bear the sight anymore.

When he opened his eyes, he was thankful that Spain's head was slumped over. Romano was thankful that he didn't see the disfigured right side of Spain's face, the hollow cheek, and the bloodstained hair.

His death was quick and simple.

Three strikes, and he was out.

* * *

><p>"We have an emergency." Alfred said, standing up at the meeting table. "Both Spain and South Italy are gone. They disappeared, and the capitols...well, Soain's is burned..."<p>

"What about _fratello?"_ Italy cried out, tears in his eyes. Germany gave him a sympathetic glance, and laid a hand on the Italian's.

"He...was found...dead..." France said, giving a sad look to the Italian. Feliciano burst into tears, laying his head down on the table.

"And _systra..._she's gone too. Minsk...it's burned..." Ukraine added, narrowing her normally kind eyes. Russia nodded, giving a death glare across the table.

"And Yao..."

"What about Kiku?" England asked, giving a glance to the empty seat.

"I saw him when he came to visit my house..._ve..._but he ran away..." Feliciano piped up, pouting slightly. Then the Italian bit his lip, tears forming in his eyes. "I-I'm so w-worried…"

"We need to find him; all of us need protection now. We have to form an alliance against...whatever this is..." Russia said, standing up. There was a general consensus of agreement heard all around.

America smiled.

"Perfect."

* * *

><p>(England's POV)<p>

**No.**

**Nonononono.**

**No. No. NO.**

**NO!**

The madman laughed as he clutched his head, fingers digging deep into his hair. He laughed, throwing his head back, golden eyes stretched wide. Blood, his own liquid gold, fell down his cheeks. His fingernails cut deep into his flesh, tearing skin and exposing the exquisite ruby underneath bone-white skin. Oh yes, yes, yes. It was all his. All that blood, that delicious, luxurious death. Yes, yes, yes, yes. How perfect, so fucking perfect.

Why wasn't the pirate happy?

**Nonononononononononononononononononononononononono nonononononononononononononononononononononononono nonononononononononononononononononononononononono nononononononononononononononononononono!**

The madman laughed again, blood bubbling at the corners of his lips as he laughed. It fell down his lips, dripping onto his lap, staining his body red. Oh fuck yes, it was so beautiful. Everything was so rich, so _rich, _and his heart sang with the beautiful greed that enveloped his entire form. He needed _more, oh so much more, _he _craved it! _He _ached _for blood.

The faces of the innocents flashed through his mind, and he snickered again at the beautiful blood that he imagined falling from their faces.

Seychelles. Sealand. Taiwan. Hong Kong. Adorable little Liet.

**Nopleasenopleasenopleasei'msosorryplease!**

Laughing, the madman got to his feet, sabre in hand. He stumbled out the door, laughing, leaving a trail of blood behind in his wake.

Greed is a powerful thing.

* * *

><p>(Lili's POV)<p>

The young, sweet girl sat at the kitchen table, humming softly to herself as she sipped her tea. Her brother had left that day to talk to Mr. Austria. Lili laughed softly to herself as she thought of the two...ahem, idiots. She honestly couldn't think of anyone more clueless than them. She could see it in the way that Vash always turned bright red around the aristocrat that he was in love. Heck (oh my, why did she think of such a word? Lili bit her lip in guilt.) that one day, Vash put a bucket over his head and said that he couldn't get Mr. Austria out of his head! Lili loved her brother to death, but even she had to think he was being ridiculous about his obvious crush on Mr. Austria!

Lili giggled to herself softly again, and she put her fingers over her mouth, suppressing her laughter. She wasn't sure whether to feel ashamed, or feel happy about what she had done. She had called Austria and imitated Ms. Hungary's voice almost perfectly (it took a whole lot of practice, but she was eventually able to do it) and told Mr. Austria that there was an emergency with Gilbert (oh, how disrespectful to call him by his name, even in her thoughts!) that only Mr. Austria could handle at Berlin, and she gave him the exact place. _Then_ she called Vash over and told him that he needed to go to Berlin, since she wanted a Berliner*, and she gave him the exact address. Oh, it was so bad to do, but Lili was so excited! She blushed to herself as she covered her smile.

There was something about two boys kissing that made her happy...maybe she should talk to Ms. Hungary about it...she seemed to know what it meant...

There was a soft knock at the door, and Lili stood up, tilting her head curiously. Maybe Vash came home early. Lili felt her heart sink at the thought. She had really, really hoped that her brother and Mr. Austria would get over their silly break-up so long ago. She had spent so many nights hoping and praying...

A strange sense of wrongness flushed through Lili as she stood up. The young girl gasped softly, placing her hand over her thin chest. O-oh my...maybe she was getting sick. It must have been the inexpensive cheese her brother bought. He had a habit of buying cheap things so that they could get nicer things later on, though the nice things never seemed to come...but Lili didn't mind. Her brother was so good to her, and he was right. It was better to save than to spend and regret.

Lili stood up, and the world attempted to pull her down, but she held herself upright with her chair. Dread filled her to the very core, and she bit her lip, trying to stay calm. This was ridiculous. The scariest nation she could think of was Mr. Russia, and even he wasn't that scary. She was being silly...nothing was going to hurt her. She had brother's rifles in her room in case someone tried to hurt her, but no one would.

No one would.

Lili took slow, tentative steps to the door. She could hear her mary-janes clicking with every step, and she felt her chest tighten. She felt dizzy.

_Stop being silly, Lili...everything is okay._

The silence suddenly seemed to intensify. If something bad happened (which she knew it wouldn't) no one would be around to hear her scream. No one.

_Stop it, Lili...you're a big girl. You want to make brother proud of you...stop it._

Lili squeezed her eyes shut and her hand found the door knob. She pulled it open.

Relief washed through the innocent girl, and a big smile found its way onto her face.

"Hello, Mr. Italy." Lili said, feeling a soft smile slip onto her lips. The Italian, in turn, smiled back amiably.

Lili always admired the Italian, strange as that may seem, but she did. He was just so nice, and so content with being himself. He didn't feel self-conscious about what he was, or who he was. Lili always needed to be something she wasn't, something that she created to make her brother happy, but Italy didn't feel that need to change. He was always just happy being himself, and that was something that Lili wished she could do.

"Just call me Feli." The Italian replied, still smiling.

Lili tilted her head curiously.

Yes, Italy was usually cheerful, but there was something...off about that smile. It was a bit too wide, and a bit too...gleeful? Maybe that could be it...Lili just shrugged it off. Maybe Mr. Germany had talked to him today, and that had made the Italian happy. Lili knew she certainly would be if her brother praised her. Yes..that was probably it! Germany probably praised him, and that made Italy happy! And...and maybe he couldn't find any other Germanic country to talk to, so he came here!

Lili felt her heart glow, and a wide smile spread across her face. Oh, she was just so happy! This...this was such an honor! She was usually looked over because of her small size and lack of angsty history, but now she was finally being recognized by a member of the G8 for her importance! Yes...yes, she was _important!_ She was also a Germanic country; she was someone who could be talked to for advice! She...she was _important!_

Lili straightened herself out, adjusting the ribbons in her hair and smoothing out her dress so that she looked more official, and she adjusted her tights, cleared her throat, and tried to make herself look as official and strong as possible. She had to show this strong nation that she was strong too, and that she could be called a big sister to everyone too! She was strong, and she was going to become just like her brother!

Lili cleared her throat again, and turned to the Italian, tilting her chin up and narrowing her eyes slightly, the exact same way that her brother looked at people. She almost wanted to try and deepen her voice, maybe to sound a bit more like Miss Hungary, but she decided not to. He would be able to tell the difference in her voice anyway, so it would be useless to try.

"What did you want to visit me for, Mr. Italy?" Lili asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. This was so exciting! He was going to make her into an important nation too! Lili had to try her hardest to keep her smile off her face. She was Germanic! She was supposed to be strict and composed and serious!

"Oh, you know, just a normal visit to a friend. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Ms. Liechtenstein." Italy replied, smiling back at her. The Italian drifted a bit closer, one hand absently touching the vase of alpine red roses that Lili had on her table. Lili had to bite her lip to keep from speaking. She had no idea why, but she had the strangest urge to scream at Italy. She didn't, however, and merely watched him. The Italian removed one of the delicate flowers, absently twirling it in his hand.

Lili blinked, trying hard to keep from making any kind of movement. She still felt she had to prove herself, of course, but there was also something else that kept her in place. There was some unknown force that squeezed her heart, locking down every limb and making it entirely impossible to move.

No matter how much she wanted to scream, no matter how much she wanted to run and cry, she couldn't.

"..."

She had never noticed before, but Italy had bright, pale blue eyes.

Since when did he have blue eyes? She had been certain that she hadn't...

"You know, I've always liked you, Lili. You're just so...quiet. I like that...you're not someone who would be rude and disturb me." the Italian said as he absently inspected Lili's national flower.

All the Germanic girl could do was just stand there, listening, hearing her heart pounding in her ears, and her blood turn to ice.

"The problem, of course, is your "brother", who I don't like. Nobody does, really. He's so...annoying." the Italian continued. One by one, he peeled the petals off of the rose, watching them drift gently through the air.

"T-that's not true! I like my brother!" Lili said. Her voice was tense, just barely escaping her lips in a broken, struggling sentence.

Italy looked up at her, and she watched a small smile touch his lips. Out of a holster he kept on his belt, the Italian withdrew a dagger. The blade gleamed wickedly in the bright, artificial light of the dining room, and Lili couldn't help but notice that there was already dried blood on it.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Lili squeezed her eyes shut.

When she opened them again, Italy was gone.

* * *

><p>(Prussia's POV)<p>

If one was to look at the Prussian, they wouldn't see who he really was.

They wouldn't see the smart military man, or the brutal tactician. All they would see is a loud, arrogant idiot.

But he could see. Something that war had taught him was that nothing is a coincidence.

Nothing.

He could see that they had changed. He could see that the North American twins were trying to hide something. When they had announced several deaths at the emergency world meeting, he noticed that there was no compassion. No remorse. Were they really convinced that he was that stupid? That he wouldn't know when one of his closest friends had changed?

When he had shown up in Alfred's house, after having sneaked in through the window, he found that nothing had changed since his last visit. That wasn't something he hadn't been expecting, of course. They were all tacticians, after all.

What he hadn't been expecting was for Alfred to be waiting for him.

* * *

><p>A loud, blood-curdling scream ripped from his victim's throat as his back arched off of the wooden board, crying as pain ripped through his entire body.<p>

"You really are brilliant, Invidia." the American said, smiling as he watched.

Metal chains held their victim to the table, needles digging deep into the flesh, not even drawing blood with how deep and think they went in. His arms were pinned to his sides, hands pressed down, and the thin needles visible from the top of his wrists. They were placed like that to keep the blood flowing. After all, numb arms wouldn't be very effective when it comes to this...art. This beauty, this…this _wonderful thing._

Underneath each and every fingernail dug two needles, pushed so deep that the back was no longer visible to anyone looking at it. Canada smiled cheerfully at his work of art, and he leaned over the victim, proudly displaying a long and wicked dagger he held ever so lovingly in his hands. He would wait, though. Wait until the needles violated the albino to the very core.

"You know, it gets tiring when I am being forced to listen to such pathetic screams. You're so pathetic, you know that? Not even worth my time anymore."

After another moment of just more screams, the Canadian shook his head, sighing in disappointment.

"W-wh...w-why?" a soft voice asked.

Canada silenced this by driving the blade deep into the albino's chest, twisting the blade sickeningly, blood splashing onto his face. Canada relished in the delicious screams the albino made, and he laughed as he tasted the metallic taste of blood. He yanked the knife out, licking it clean before giving another smile.

"Because it's fun."

The Canadian brought down the blade again, this time aiming for the ribs, producing another scream as the blade hit bone. Canada laughed again, twisting the blade once more, deciding to see how far he could go before the nation died of bloodloss. Carving more skin free, he twisted the blade underneath the nation's ribs, sawing at the bone.

From one corner of the room, the American watched, his eyes glittering in contentment, ready to deal the final blow when Canada was finished.

Canada let out a frustrated sound when the albino passed out from pain. He sighed unhappily, before leaning over the table, and throwing down a switch. Wires connected to the chains activated, and the albino was jolted awake in pure pain. He screamed louder, throat ripping, blood pouring out of his mouth. The Canadian grinned more, resuming his work in severing muscles and bones, ripping through the heart and lungs, staining the wooden table with the dark stain of blood. It was only when the albino's heart stopped that he was finished. His chest was a bloody, raw mess, and he had been able to last three ribs being taken out. Canada smiled, beckoning for the American to come over.

The American couldn't help but smile, his normally calm eyes widening and glittering in excitement as he rose up the rusty, nailed bat.

And once more, Prussia screamed.

* * *

><p>(Kiku's POV)<p>

The Japanese man stood in the rain, head tilted down, with his bangs covering his face. His shoulders trembled slightly as he stared down at his feet, unable to do anything but just try and keep himself on his feet.

He had nowhere else to go.

Kiku put his hands to his face, trying to keep himself calm, but failing miserably. There had to be something he could do, but he couldn't think of anything. He felt helpless. Completely and utterly helpless. He just..he just needed someone, something, anything to help him.

He raised a hand, slowly rapping on the door once more.

There was no response.

Kiku fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, and cried.

America was gone.

* * *

><p>AN

My first torture scene...please review~!


	7. Perditio

A/N

And now we're finally back! In case you didn't notice, I went back and combined several chapters, since it really bugs me when parts are useless, and chapters are less than 2,000 words. And now we finally finish the intro, and the real plot comes around. Exciting, huh? XD

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p><em><span>Proverbs: 6:19-9<span>_

_There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers._

_Revelation 20:1-15_

_Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, holding in his hand the key to the bottomless pit and a great chain. And he seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and bound him for a thousand years, and threw him into the pit, and shut it and sealed it over him, so that he might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while. Then I saw thrones, and seated on them were those to whom the authority to judge was committed. Also I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded for the testimony of Jesus and for the word of God, and those who had not worshiped the beast or its image and had not received its mark on their foreheads or their hands. They came to life and reigned with Christ for a thousand years. The rest of the dead did not come to life until the thousand years were ended. This is the first resurrection. ..._

* * *

><p>(Japan's POV)<p>

Once, a long time ago, America had told him something that seemed trivial at the time. It was when they were first talking to each other, when they had first started to get to know each other. Japan hadn't been with anybody for a very long time at that point, so he really hadn't understood what the American man had meant. How could he, when there was no way for him to?

"_You don't know what you have, until it's gone."_

And now, he understood.

Japan kneeled by the American's door, fingers curled into his inky black hair, pulling tight on the strands. He had lost America. He had lost his best, and one of his only friends. Who else did he have? England was gone. Italy was gone. China was gone. America was gone. Prussia was gone. They had all left him. America had left him. He would never see his best friend again. He was gone. He was gone. And none of them were coming back.

Japan almost wanted to laugh when he felt the first drops of rain hit his nose. It was so stupid and cliche, wasn't it? For it to start raining when he felt at his lowest point? So stupid. So right. A bitter smile crossed his lips, and he almost let himself choke out a laugh, but he didn't. Instead, he stood up, and let the heavy rain fall onto his face. Honestly, what was the point? It wasn't like it was going to do anything. God was just laughing at him now, wasn't he? Whatever God, Christian, Muslim, or even Gods, whatever really was up there, was laughing at him. Just when he was finally brave enough to step into the world, he lost everyone.

The rain fell like bullets, biting into his face, but not enough to truly hurt. It was cold, almost painful, but not quite.

And somewhere, he was remembering the promise he had made a long time ago. The one that Italy had made to Germany, and the one that he was later invited to. They were all friends, weren't they? The Axis were a team. They worked together, and they had fun. They were a family. Not only the Axis, but the nations all together. When they got past the wars, their history, and everything stupid that seperated them, they were all just a family.

They were all human, or at least as close as they could be.

"_No matter what happens, if you're in trouble, I'll come help you. And if we're in trouble, you'll help me."_

Japan had made that promise. He was supposed to help his friends when they were in trouble.

Even though Italy had betrayed them. Even though America had hurt him. Even though Germany hardly spoke to him. Even through everything, they were still friends.

And he would never really be alone.

Japan leant against the door, holding one arm while he dialed a number on his phone. His hands were shaking so bad that he could hardly keep his fingers on the buttons, and he got the back of his phone smeared with blood, but he didn't care. The other number went to voicemail, and it kept doing so, even when Japan kept calling four times. Cursing, he left a voicemail:

"_Call me back, please. I need your help. You are one of the only people I can trust to help me. I think we can get everyone back, but I need you. Please, call me back soon. Call me back, or we will all die."_

When it was done, Japan began walking down the street once more, deciding to go home. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved.

It was dead in an instant, its head sliced off by Japan's blade.

For a long time, the asian man stared at the mockingbird, just watching its blood wash away in the rain.

* * *

><p><em>I am going to die, aren't I? Please forgive me, Father. I have broken your law. I have rebelled against your love. I have-<em>

**They are going to die. I will plunge my fingers into their eyes and scoop them out and rip out their jaws and-**

_Heavenly Father, I am not worthy of your love. Please forgive me, for I have sinned, I have coveted the flesh of my love-_

**Ignorant. They are ignorant. They will die. All of them. The filthy swine they are, they will die like sheep and-**

_Blessed Maria, bringer of light, I am not worthy of your forgiveness. Please lead us to light, lead us to the Almighy's land-_

**Why do you continue to fight? You will not win. You are weak. You are pathetic. You are already dead, mortal.**

_The Almighty brings me strength. He brings with him the light of eternity. You are weak. You cannot fight against Him._

**Your friends are dead. She is dead, and if she isn't, she will die. You are all alone. You are not worth anything.**

_Your words do not matter. If she is dead, then I will join her after you are gone. I am not alone. The Almighty is with me._

**You are not worth saving. None of you are. You are filth. You are disgusting. You are weak and flawed. You-**

_I am free. I am given the gift of life and hope. I believe in my life. You do not believe. That is why I can hold you back._

**You hold me back because your body lives, filth. When this body dies, you will be gone, and I will be free.**

_No. I will not allow it. I will protect her. I will always protect her. I know she lives, even cloaked in that demon's form._

**She is already gone. And you will be gone too. Blood is on her hands.**

_No, it is not her hands anymore. They are posessed by that monster. _

**She is already gone. She is dead and isn't coming back.**

_You are lying._

**No, she is never coming back.**

_Heavenly Father, please, I beseech the, protect my-_

**She is never coming back.**

* * *

><p>"Weak fool." Italy snarled, glaring at the German chained to the bed. "He can't even get control of that weak, mortal body. Gula is only going to hold us back."<p>

America laughed. "It doesn't matter. Even with only the three of us, we can do it."

Italy's eyes flashed, and he glanced at the American.

"You never explained why you wanted to form a team against us." A smile spread across the Italian's face, and his eyes danced. "Perhaps you wanted to fight me. That would certainly be fun. I have no qualms against fighting you, weaklings deserve to die."

"I hope you were not planning to start without me." Canada said coldly, green eyes flashing. "I could easily kill you both right now, and you would have to start _all over again. _It would be unfortunate really."

America smiled, striding to Canada and taking his twin by the chin, leaning his face close and looking in the Canadian's eyes. He licked his lips, and purred softly.

"I would never dream of it, Invidia. Please, do not be so paranoid, I would never start without you."

The Canadian's eyes narrowed further, and he bared his teeth, snarling.

"If you are lying about that, I will not hesitate to rip you apart."

The American laughed.

"Of course not." he bit down harshly on the Canadian's neck, drawing blood and lapping it up onto his lips. "I would never do that. You're my precious little demon, I would never leave you out of it."

"I fucking hate you, so fucking much." the Canadian said again, growling lowly.

"I know." the American purred.

By this point, the Italian was now lounging on the bed, half asleep. "If I am going to be left out, I would at least ask for an explanation of what I asked earlier. I would much rather be sleeping."

The American laughed, again, standing up and licking his lips again.

"It's a game. We destroy them from the inside out. Feed paranoia, watch the hatred grow. Watch them tear themselves apart, turning on each other. Watch the capitold burn, watch them all bleed and die and turn the world red. We lead them in wrong directions, pin the blame on everyone, watch them rip each other to shreds and consume themselves in fire. And then, when they are all dead...it will truly begin."

"What will?"

"The end."

* * *

><p><strong>-and he was laughing, red spilling over his arms, singing and burning and bloody, ripping his skin apart, watching the precious red-gold spilling over his skin. <strong>

**Beginning, it was beginning, and he knew it was. It was all starting and starting and he was so excited. This was so wonderful, so incredible, he was laughing and laughing his eyes spinning and he was crying and crying and crying and-**

_No._

**Blood was pouring over everything, rivers and rivers pouring and stretching and boiling everything skin was scraping off and needles were piercing his eyes and he was being ripped apart and reborn in fires and they were all crying and he was-**

_Please no._

**-there was nothing he could do about it because it is all your fault it is all because of you, you did this and you know you did this you monster this is all because of you you fool you idiot you are so fucking stupid and you know it you are killing everybody and everythingandeverythingyou used to care about you fool you did this everyone hates you you don't deserve to fucking live anymore.**

_I'm sorry._

**You fool. You are killing everyone, you are starting this you are killing them you are destroying them, you are bathing in their blood and ripping them apart piece by piece and tasting their flesh and boiling and skinning them and cutting them apart-**

_I'm so sorry._

* * *

><p>AN:

And England's descent to madness continues, while Germany is still fighting.

And Japan's has just begun.

Review~!


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